


Between Saints and Sinners

by AbsinthexMind



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Affairs, Brothels, F/M, On the Run, Prostitution, Smut, septa reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 09:39:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19129432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbsinthexMind/pseuds/AbsinthexMind
Summary: It had been years since you last saw Sandor Clegane. Years since you had last been in employment at Lord Baelish’s brothel.





	Between Saints and Sinners

“Well fuck me.” Sandor’s gruff voice rumbles behind you as you try and make your escape down the dimly lit corridor. He’s quick to grab your wrist and hold you captive. “(y/n) (l/n). In a fucking septa’s costume no less. So this is where you’ve been hiding. All the way in the piss cold North.” 

You already knew trying to fight against Sandor Clegane would be quite useless. Compared to him you were but a ragdoll. So you didn’t even bother to struggle, instead you keep your gaze off of his face. Choosing to look down the hallway to make sure no one would see the two of you together. What would Septa Mordane think if she found out about your history? What would Lord Stark think? He was a reputable man full of honor and would surely think less. 

“Please let me go.” You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut. “Please Sandor.” 

After a moment of thought he releases your wrist as you cower against the wall. Never had you thought that you would ever see him again. You didn’t know what to say to him. He wasn’t quite the easiest of men to have a conversation with. A part of your heart was incredibly happy to see him among the king’s entourage. You missed him. 

“So, you’ve fooled everyone into thinking you’re some sort of pure and innocent septa?” He scoffs. 

Indignantly you glare at him. “I am a septa. I’m not the person I was years ago. I’ve bettered myself under the tutelage of the Seven” 

That made him bark out with cruel laughter and you felt your cheeks flush red. His teasing smirk faltered once he saw the seriousness on your face. “You can’t be fucking serious.” 

“Look at me Sandor. Do I look like the same whore that once used to reside at Baelish’s brothel?” You hold out your arms so that he could take a good look at you. “I thought you would be happy to know that I wasn’t fucking anyone anymore.” You quickly covered your mouth at the profanity you had used. Sandor always did manage to push your buttons. That’s what you had liked about him. He treated you just like any other woman, not just like a whore. Sandor gave you true pleasure as you had given him. Of course, being a talented whore meant you were to entertain more than one person a day. Which in the long run Sandor didn’t like. Not one bit. You still remember the day when you had been pleasuring some random soldier. He had busted down the door, pure murder on his face as he rampaged the room; tearing your poor customer to shreds. Not even Lord Petyr Baelish, with his manipulative way of speaking, could get him out or stop him for screaming at you. Unspoken emotions in the depths of his anger and jealousy. Those of love. Yet he dared not to speak them. He couldn’t be seen as the dumb cunt who had fallen in love with a whore. Nor could you say anything about the love you had felt for him. Love would not set you free. The money you got from working at Baelish’s establishment was too good to let go. You knew if you were to leave with Sandor that your life would not get any easier. You would always be reminded by the many lords that you had entertained that you were nothing more than a whore. You deserved no place in the Red Keep, so close to the king and queen. If King Robert were to find out what you were he might want a taste. Then what would Sandor do? He couldn’t very well deny his king. 

A thick brow scrunches in a scowl, making the burned side of his face contort in agitation. You look up at him, unflinching and unnerved by just how much more dominating he was than you were. “For being a septa you still have the mouth of a whore. You haven’t truly changed. Who’s to say you haven’t fucked anyone since you came here? I bet you’re still cock hungry. Any man would do. You haven’t changed at all.” 

“What else did you expect from me?!” You hiss. “You knew damn well what I was and what I did!” 

Of course, who could argue with that? Sandor looks like he wants to argue back with you but even he knows that you’re right. You hadn’t wanted to fuck any of those men. You just wanted to live a life with Sandor. 

But that was childish of you to think. Love never worked in the real world. 

“I’m truly a septa now. I’ve washed away that part of my life.” You bite down on your lip, trying to remain strong but you always did have a sensitive heart. You cover your face in your hands and start to cry. “Did you really think I wanted to do it with those men? I loved you. I loved you but there was no way I could truly be with you. I knew that and Petyr Baelish never let me forget. I didn’t want to live like that anymore Sandor. I just wanted to be free. I didn’t want people to see me as a whore anymore.” 

“I never did.” Many, if they were to hear him at that moment, would be surprised that the Hound was capable of making his voice gentle. It still held a gruffness to it, but there was a soothing aspect that brought you back. He would use it with you when you would bring him to your personal quarters and he saw the mess that another patron had made of you. Every now and then someone would get too handsy and strike you or choke you a little bit. Sandor’s giant hands would brush at your bruised cheek and in his violent manner he would swear to you that he would gut the man who had hurt you. His voice was always gentle when he told you so, that’s how you truly knew he would keep to his word. 

Even now his hand cups your cheek and tilts your head up. It slithers it’s way to undo your septa’s headgown and let your (h/c) fall in waves. Sandor threw it aside. You’re too lost in his touch. This brute of a man, handling you like you were a wounded bird. Some days he would visit you, still battle weary with bloodstains on his armor and sweat on his body. 

He swoops down, like a vulture, and captures your lips roughly. You gasp and nearly pull away were it not for his hands keeping you in place. The scratchiness of his beard rubbing against your gentle face brought more memories back to you that you can’t help but let yourself go. Hands sliding down his chest as you finally relax into the hungry kiss and manage your own fire to match Sandor’s. 

With a possessive growl he easily lifts you off the ground and shoves your back against the wall. You hiss, slightly in pain and partly due to the access your body now had to his. Your arms wrap around his neck for dear life, fingers tangling in his hair as you feel the slight thrust of his hips against you. 

Just then he breaks the kiss to turn you around, still holding you up with one arm. Face pressed against the wall you panic for a moment when you hear him fussing behind you. 

“Sandor-” 

“There are no such things as saints and sinners, (y/n).” He tells you. “We’re just fucking people.” You feel the cold air of the north hit you as Sandor lifts up the hem of your dress. “You’re neither a saint for becoming a septa or a sinner for being a whore.” The skin of his palm caresses your thigh and moves up to the globe of your ass to give it a light squeeze. Between your legs, something comes alive. Something you hadn’t experienced in quite a long time. 

His lips caress the shell of your ear as his one free hand slips your underwear down. “And don’t let any cunt try to tell you what you are.” A thick finger slips in and you brace yourself against the wall, suppressing the moan that wanted to come out. Sandor pumps it in and out until you could feel your own wetness smear against the inside of your thigh. Your feet dangle a few inches off the ground, trying to find stability as the Hound finger fucks you. The little whimpers that squeeze past your lips become louder when his finger grazes against your clit. Sandor’s finger easily slides out of you and he jostles you a bit to reposition himself behind you. Something prodes at your lower lips and you can nearly taste it with your upper ones. 

“Sing” Sandor instructs as he eases his cock inside of you. Your breath hitches, nails digging into the stone uselessly. It had always been a task taking in Sandor’s giant cock. Even for you. 

“G-Gentle M. . .” Gasping once the head of his cock is finally inside of you, you try to keep a quiet breath. “G. . . Gentle M-Mother. . . F-F-Font of M-Mercy-” You nearly cry out as he thrusts into you. Oh Gods, you had missed the feeling of his cock stretching you out so much. To Hell with the song. You couldn’t even remember the words as Sandor fucked you senselessly; reducing you to a wreathing, mewly mess.


End file.
